


If I Ever Had A Heart

by amazingjemma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FItz and Jemma are not related, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Out of Character, Secret Identity, Stoker AU, not brother/sister kind of stuff, shady fitz, some heavy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingjemma/pseuds/amazingjemma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her father dies, Jemma has to deal with a lot of stuff: unknown relatives, grandmothers and uncles; her deranged mother; and a mysterious boy who claims to be her step brother. But is he, really?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Ever Had A Heart

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing I'll say: LEO FITZ IS NOT JEMMA SIMMONS' BROTHER.
> 
> Low key based on the psychological thriller "Stoker".
> 
> Check this if you dare (I did and low key regreted about that lol).

“Is that _her_?”

 

“She's grown up so much!”

 

“Poor girl. She must be devastated. Losing the closest person to her...”

 

“She was John's favorite person in the whole world.”

 

“I've heard he didn't love his wife as much as he loved his only daughter.”

 

“She's so weird. Rumour has it she dropped out of three schools due to her behaviour.”

 

Jemma Simmons was wandering across the house, whispers and hushed tones making her look at people she didn't know. Hadn’t met before. She didn't know their names or who they were. All of them were wearing black – the color of sadness, emptiness and mourning. The color of death. 

 

The laughter of her mother made Jemma stop and look up. Her mother, pale and sick was laughing with someone of John's friends, a glass of red wine in her right hand. It’s red color only reminded Jemma of blood. That beautiful shade of scarlet, splashing in that clear blue glass, a gift from Jemma's grandmother, for her parents' wedding.

 

“Jemma?”

 

The young girl blinked a few times and noticed that her mother and the people she didn't know were staring at her, judging and expecting her to do something. Her mother smiled.

 

“Jemma, darling, would you be so kind and open another bottle of red wine? Your favorite.”

 

Charlotte Simmons studied Jemma for a couple of minutes, wandering what did she do to deserve a daughter like that. After the death of the only man in their small family, Jemma became closed, stranded and barely talked to her mother. Everyone there knew that Jemma was whom John Simmons loved more than anything in the world. Even his wife, who lost her damn mind a few years ago could see that, and felt an unwanted jealousy.

 

Without saying a word, Jemma turned around, her black elegant dress looking better on her than anyone else’s in the room. Another wave of whispers and gossip followed her, but Jemma didn't turn around. She entered the kitchen and opened the freezer where her mother liked to keep beverages.

 

Opening the bottle, Jemma poured some wine into a glass and glanced at her mother who was watching her carefully. As if she was the threat. As if she was the stranger in a full house of other strangers who seem to be completely oblivious to Charlotte's state. Little did they know that _Charlotte_ was the threat. 

 

Under some kind of charm, Jemma placed the glass on a table and took the whole bottle, slowly approaching her mother. Without hint of a smile she gave the bottle to Charlotte. The older woman smiled sweetly and stroked her daughter's cheek. This unfamiliar gesture made Jemma flinch and the older woman withdrew her hand as if she had been burnt. 

 

The atmosphere of the house was suffocating. So many unfamiliar faces, who claimed to know you and even go so far as to try and touch you. Who smiled and laughed and talked about John Simmons as if he were a God. To Jemma, he definitely was. In good and bad, they had held each other tight and tried to soothe the pain. But now, Jemma felt as if her second half has been destroyed, rudely killed and torn off, leaving her all alone to bleed.

 

Bleeding was something Jemma was used to. She's seen too much blood now, the rich scarlet color haunting her in the dreams she had at night. The color of blood, flowers she loved, wine and love. But now the love's gone and there's only blood and flowers left.

 

Hearing people laugh made Jemma feel sick.

 

_This isn't a joke,_ she thought,  _this isn't a time for laughing or smiling,_ and she hated each and every person in the house, all unfamiliar faces and presumptuous voices. They were fake. Showing emotions just to make others like them, to prove that they knew John better than anyone. As if anyone could know him better, than his favorite daughter.

 

The kitchen was getting crowded now, too. Trying to go back and get her glass of wine, Jemma was pushed aside by a stranger, no, an Uncle. Yet another nameless brother of John Simmons, who looked like he just won a lottery and a large sum of money. He looked at Jemma like she already belonged to him – young, beautiful and deranged.

 

“Jemma!”

 

For the first time in a few weeks, Jemma was glad to hear her mother's voice. Without any word, Jemma turned away and took a deep breath trying to ignore the man who was clearly staring behind her back, like a hunter preparing to catch his prey. Clutching at the fabric of her dress, she slowly approached her mother who was still smiling. Would she ever stop smiling?

 

“Sweetie, I want you to meet someone,” Charlotte was almost shining and even her fake smile seemed to be true. “He's travelled a long way to our house and couldn't arrive right at the funeral, but now he's here and he wants to finally meet you.”

 

The young girl furrowed her forehead and took a step closer to her mother. “Who are you talking about?”

 

“Meet your step brother, dear!” Charlotte chirped and clapped her hands as if she just received a long awaited gift. With ease she clutched at her daughter's shoulders and spun her around.

 

And then Jemma stopped breathing.

 

“Hello, Jemma.”

 

He had blue eyes and charming smile. His teeth were a clear white and Jemma couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else, hidden behind his smile. She turned around just to find her mother almost admiring out loud this young man, looking so sharp and clean.

 

“Oh, forgive my daughter's behaviour, she isn't really fond of talking”, Charlotte giggled and Jemma shot her a warning look. “She was really talkative when her father was alive, though. She also used to sing a lot, didn't you, Jemma?”

 

The girl in question rolled her eyes and shifted uncomfortably, trying to escape her mother's tight grip. She still had her hands on Jemma's shoulders and it started to irritate her. She hated being touched by anyone, especially women but most of all by her mom. Her hands were always dirty and sharp, and any moment of affection was as fake as her entire persona.

 

“I am not really a talker, myself,” the young man kindly said. “Sometimes you can't express your emotions, feelings and thoughts in words, so it's better not to talk.”

 

Jemma glanced at him again, shamelessly checking the stranger. His strict grey suit made him look like an actual billionaire, and there was something irreverent in his lopsided smile, that made Jemma's cold heart melt. 

 

He was checking her too, definitely calculating something. He liked the way she looked. A little bit cowed, but a lot terrifying. She looked as if she knew a coveted secret, or maybe how to kill someone without leaving evidence. She looked ethereally disturbing, watching him with her wild big hazel eyes.

 

“Maybe we should talk later,” he smiled and looked at Charlotte Simmons who looked almost swooning. “Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I haven't introduced myself!”

 

Jemma looked at her giggling mother with annoyance and then back at her recently-found-step-brother. He doesn't even seem to look at Mrs. Simmons, his eyes never leaving younger Simmons' face.

 

“My name's Leo Fitz”, he grins and Jemma hates how her heart clenches. “I'd actually prefer Fitz, because well, I'm not sure if my father was sober when he gave me that name.”

 

Charlotte bursts into loud laughter, making Jemma cringe and stepping back away from the woman. She makes eye contact again and this time, notices something new in Fitz's blue eyes. Something that looks like sorrow. The sorrow is dark and she feels him tense when she slowly walks past him.

 

The scent of her coconut perfume surrounds him and he unconsciously licks his lips. He feels the fabric of her dress on his hand and wants to catch her by wrist and just ask Jemma to talk. He wants to hear her voice and see her smile but she's a closed book in his collection, the one yet to open and study closely.

 

Jemma tries to escape unnoticed by her family members and grabs the glass of red wine at the dining table. She normally never drinks anything like alcohol – she used to have no interest in it, but tonight it's a must. This wine reminds her of her father. The smell, the color, even the glass. It belonged to her father, she remembers him drinking from this exact glass, holding it as if it was the most delicate flower in the whole world. He never held her mother like that.

 

Their backyard is dark, the only source of the light is the shining moon. Jemma stops abruptly from her running and looks up. The sky is clear and she can see bright stars, which died a million years ago. She wonders if her father went back to the same place he was even before the Earth was created. Did he become a star? Is he a part of her favorite constellation? Where is he now? In which realm? The universe is huge, Jemma thinks and tilts her head to the side, playing with the fabric of her dress with her free hand. Her father can be anywhere and it makes Jemma a little bit happier – she knows he's still watching her. His favourite girl.

 

“He told me you're into space.” A voice startles Jemma and she turns around, just to find Fitz standing there and watching her with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

 

“What else did he tell you about me?”

 

Her voice is cold and sharp but Fitz likes it. Jemma looks rather aggressive and he can literally see the wall she built around herself. She doesn't trust him and oh well, why would she? He's someone she has never met before, a guest, a mystery yet to solve. Fitz takes one step forward and Jemma takes one step back.

 

“He told me you were very intelligent. Wise. Curious. Beautiful.”

 

“How much he was right?”

 

Leo stops and grins, staring at his step-sister. He wants to say that John Simmons was absolutely wrong. He wants to say that Jemma Simmons is the most beautiful creature he ever saw and that he wants to get to know her. Closer than he's allowed.

 

“Everything's pretty accurate. Though, he didn't tell me you're so feral.”

 

Jemma scoffs and turns away from Fitz, heading to the garden swing she and her father built themselves. Jemma did the painting and decorating, but John did everything else. 

 

She sits down and starts from the ground, rocking the swing, the glass of wine still in her hand, her eyes never leaving the young man in front of her. He's standing a few meters away from her, smirking with his hands in trousers pockets. Jemma licks her lips and tilts her head to the side. She pats the seat next to her, in invitation.

 

“Come sit with me, Mr. Fitz. It looks like we've got a lot to talk about.”

 

He moves like a predator. She can see what others can't see, feel what others can't feel and hear what others can't hear. It takes a little bit to calculate how often changes his mood and how often he allows himself to lick his lips. 

 

Fitz sits down next to Jemma and glances at her glass of wine. She watches him carefully and rocks the swing again, a sly smirk on her full rosy lips. Three. Two. One. He licks his lips, still staring at her glass.

 

“He told me you never drink alcohol.”

 

“He's right.” She still can’t find it in her to refer to her father in the past tense.

 

“Maybe you'll like this one?” Jemma feels his hand covering her own and tries her best not to flinch away. Fitz lifts both their hands with the glass to her lips carefully and she knows he's calculating too.

 

Closing her eyes, Jemma focuses on the feeling, the warmth of his hand and light breeze. She takes a few gulps and almost moans. The wine burns her throat but this feeling is satisfying. It's like kissing the flames without fear of getting burnt. When she opens her eyes, Leo's face is a few centimeters away from her own, and she can't help but shiver at the unfamiliar sensation. 

 

“It does taste great,” Jemma whispers and puts the empty glass down on the grass. She sits up straight and fixes her knees-long black dress, looking up at the sky. The moon is full and she can hear her mother's drunk giggles.

 

It sounds strange, but Fitz feels Jemma's mood. She's angry, devastated and disappointed. She may be a closed book but these lights in her eyes – they tell whole stories, good and bad and Leo can't take his eyes off the younger girl, fascinated by her coldness.

 

“What do you want, Mr. Fitz?” She asks suddenly, and it catches him off guard.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jemma scoffs and stands up, the swing rocking furiously. She doesn't fix her dress and it takes him three seconds to look up and find Jemma staring at him with fire in her bright hazel eyes.

 

“My father never told me about you. My mother adores you already. Who are you, Leo Fitz? What do you want from _me_?”

 

He feels almost gob-smacked but quickly recovers. Jemma looks rather adorable when she's angry, but also terrifying. She clenches her palms into fists and breaths heavily.

 

“I want nothing, but to be your friend,” he replies, slowly standing up from the swing. Fitz smiles with his best smile but it looks like Jemma doesn't buy it. Instead, she fixes him with a gaze that try as he might, he cannot decipher.

 

“We're not friends, Fitz. We are more than that.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Young Simmons relaxes and tilts her head to the side, studying the boy in front of her. “We're a family.”

 

With the wave of her curly caramel locks she turns around and feels him stare at her back. Fitz finds himself checking her again and notices the way her dress rode up a little bit and the way she moves. She's graceful and dangerous at the same time – just like Leo Fitz himself. The wind is getting stronger and the swing behind him rocks furiously and he hears a fainted sound of fallen glass. Fitz bends over and picks the glass, staring at it with a smile. Friends or not friends, Jemma's right. They're still a family. Some kind of a twisted family, too hard to understand the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> Kudos or/and comments are more than that.  
> Big thanks to my wonderful beta - RespektTheBovril!  
> Title from 'If I Ever Had A Heart' by Emily Wells and Clint Mansell.


End file.
